


Mask

by MiraSoraStone



Series: Cursed Hymns Trio [2]
Category: The First Drafthouse (Toonkind D&D)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, I don't know if this will happen in game but boy the idea grabbed me and didn't let go, M/M, Pillow Fights, Pre-Relationship, loose descriptions of something similar to a panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28437366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraSoraStone/pseuds/MiraSoraStone
Summary: Only one person in all of Einquell knows what Sammy’s face looks like underneath his cloth mask and they would never tell a soul. After all, there’s a reason why Sammy hides his face.But there can be exceptions.
Relationships: Gille Trebble/Sammy Jax/Chifley Forde
Series: Cursed Hymns Trio [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072805
Kudos: 3





	Mask

Only one person in all of Einquell knows what Sammy’s face looks like underneath his cloth mask and they would never tell a soul. After all, there’s a reason why Sammy hides his face. 

But there can be exceptions. 

  
  


All of them were dead on their feet, exhausted from a day’s worth of hard travel and the night was growing thick around them when they came up to the inn at the edge of the small town. The street was dark, and Sammy’s shadows were deep from inside his hood - his gold eyes gleaming in the flickering light of the lanterns. 

Gille lead the way inside, tail lashing confidently behind him, and Chifley ducked in with a quiet relieved sigh but Sammy hesitates at the door. His hands curl up around his hood, and tugs more securely down over his head, casting even more shadow over his face until all that was visible was his gold eyes peering out from a wary purple shadow, fingers reaching up to brush against his mask, as if making sure it was still there. 

It was.

Sammy follows, his long legs ensuring that neither Gille or Chifley notice the hesitation and he presses quietly close to Chifley as Gille chats up the dwarven innkeeper with sugary words and a bat of the eyelashes. 

His eyes scan the quiet hubbub of the inn from the safety of his hood. Very few patrons are still up at this hour, quietly nursing mugs of ale. 

They’re all Realkind. 

He can feel their curious gazes on his back. And it makes his skin crawl to be under such scrutiny. 

Toons are rare outside of Einquell after all. 

Subtly, he presses closer to both Gille and Chifley and he glares at a few of the Realkind who look  _ too _ interested when they overhear Gille mention that Chifley could perform in exchange for their room and board. The Realkind back down, but they don’t look cowed in the slightest, nudging each other with their elbows and laughing under their breaths. 

The innkeeper raises an eyebrow, looking unimpressed under the nearly trimmed beard interwoven with jade beads. “Why don’t you let your bard friend sing and then we’ll discuss if it’s worth your keep.”

Gille flashes her a winning smile, and grandly promises a fantastic performance. Sammy notices that Chifley is starting to sweat and presses a hand softly to the small of his back, bending over to whisper in his ear.

“You’ll do just fine, Chifley.” Sammy warmly reassures, fingers rubbing circles against his back.

Chifley goes bright red and walks stiffly to the small dais commonly found in inns and rummages through his hammer space and pulls out his lyre, sucking in a visible breath. 

It’s not like the first time Chifley played for Sammy, where he fumbled notes and played sour keys that Sammy had despite the errors found so charming... Chifley glances back at Sammy and Gille, his fingers curled around the lyre. Gille enthusiastically nods, thumbs up and Sammy’s eyes crinkle into happy half moons. Something in Chifley’s shoulders loosen and he settles into a simple stance, feet spread shoulder width apart and the song he plays… Sammy’s posture relaxes as it washes over him, warm and homey and sweet. His shading shifts from his stressed muave-purple and into a warm buttery yellow dusted with fond rose pinks at the edges as the entire room seems to sigh at the tranquility Chifley brings to the tired patrons. 

The innkeeper whistles, “Well I’ll be damned the toon can really play. Alright boys. A deal is a deal. Miss Isley will get you some grub and here’s your key.” 

Gille swipes the key before Sammy can grab it with a cackle, bowing with a flourish to the innkeeper and then darting out of the way when Sammy lunges for him. Gille leads him around the room, weaving around the Realkind starting to gather around Chifley and ask for tunes found in Einquell, and coming to a halt near the table the two Realkind who’d been gossiping before. Gille throws himself into a chair before Sammy can catch him by the waist and drag him  _ somewhere not there _ \- but it’s already too late and Gille is chatting to their table neighbors with absolute glee which just increases in smarmy smugness when he notices Sammy’s glare. 

Gille doesn’t notice when Sammy’s shading shifts from an annoyed light red to a mauve. But the Realkind sitting on the opposite side of the neighboring table, a calico Tabaxi,  _ does _ . 

She leans forward, ears peeking up eagerly as her striped tail whips back and forth. “Oh. You change colors! That’s  _ fascinating! _ Do all you toons do so? What is it you toons say… is it a part of your characterization-”

Sammy’s shading turns a sharp lilac. 

She claps her paws. “Oh! You did it again! Can you do it at will? Do they mean anything or is it just cosmetic?“

Gille turns his head just in time to catch the shift from lilac to a darker purple and the  _ flinch _ and stands with a scraping of his chair and a sweet smile on his face, sharp teeth bared as he stepped around to be in between the calico leaning into Sammy’s space. His tail lashed sharply to and fro, like he was about to pounce. 

“How would  _ you _ like it if someone asked you why  _ you _ have orange, white and black on your fur? Or why  _ your  _ eyes are slitted? When they shift,  _ do they mean anything or are they cosmetic.” _

The calico’s ears go flat as she rears back, looking sulky. “Well you don’t have to be  _ rude _ about it, I was just curious…” she muttered. Her tail lashes a few more moments before she leans back into her seat. 

Sammy can barely breathe. His voice hitches in his throat, even as his stomach crawls achingly - too many well fed meals, too many months of eating when he wanted - he wasn’t  _ used  _ to going without anymore - but he wants to -  _ needs _ to run. To hide. 

“Gille, t-the key? I-I’m not- I  _ can’t- _ “ he tugs his hood over his face, hunching his shoulders. “Gille  _ please _ .”

Sammy is begging. 

Gille immediately switches from defensive posturing to something more regal as he grabs Sammy by the crook of the arm. “C’mon, let’s go.” He murmurs, jutting out his sharp purple chin and lifting his nose up high in the air with a disdainful sniff. He escorts Sammy up the stairs, looking every inch of royalty. 

Sammy faintly registers the sounds of Chifley’s lyre slowly trailing off, like a quiet pondering refrain before ending with soft murmurs of the Realkind protesting the end of the concert drunkenly and Chifley quietly responding, something in his tone sharp and firm even though Sammy is past the point of comprehension. 

It takes all his concentration to not stumble, even with Gille’s guiding arm wrapped around his. He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Gille has unlocked the door to the room they were given and escorted him inside. Sammy still can’t breathe, the air trapped inside his throat. The door clicks shut and Gille sets about lighting candles - and Sammy is scrambling for his mask and hood, quietly suffocating. 

His rainbow hair, freed from the confines of the hood, falls against his shoulders as he sucks in a breath not smothered by cloth, shading still deep, deep purple almost black, gold eyes wild with panic. 

By the time Gille has turned around, mouth open to demand a question, Sammy has tucked himself into a corner of the room, his hair curtaining his face as he struggles to maintain his breathing, purple shaded hands digging into his cheeks, right where Prismatone’s gifted markings are on porcelain white skin. 

“Hey, hey- don’t do that, you'll hurt yourself.” Gille walks over to Sammy and kneels in front of Sammy’s curled up form, hesitating before slowly reaching out to gently tug Sammy's hands away from his face. “Hey, hey. Talk to me Sammy.”

Sammy sucks in a breath. “I, I- Realkind, they don’t- it’s bad when,”

There is a full body flinch when the door opens, and Gille wheels around, rapier already drawn - 

And Chifley backs up slightly, hands raised to show they’re empty. “It’s just me. I have food. Ms. Ellis downstairs gave me some.”

Gille throws Chifley a confused look. “Who?”

Chifley rolls his eyes. “The  _ innkeeper - _ the  _ dwarf _ who you were chatting up?”

“Ohhh so  _ that’s  _ what her name was.”

Sammy lets out a wheezing laugh tinged with hysteria, drawing both toons attention back to him. And the fact that his hands are once again digging into his cheeks. 

Chifley kneels on one side, Gille the other and almost in unison, they take one of Sammy’s hands in theirs and hold them. 

“What happened? Sammy, what’s wrong?” Chifley asks, his voice laced with concern as his thumb runs against Sammy’s knuckles and casts a purple shadow. “I looked up and saw you two heading up here, did something happen?”

“Lady was getting all nosy about his colors, asking invasive questions. Like  _ we’re _ the novelties.” Gille scoffs.

Sammy’s laugh turns sharp and bitter. Over Sammy’s bowed head, the two toons exchange a concerned glance.

“...Sammy. Did…” Gille starts, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Was it a Reelkind who-”

“Nothing  _ good _ comes from Realkind noticing my colors.” Sammy says bitterly. He glances up at Gille then away, refusing to look at either him or Chifley. “...and… yeah. A Realkind did it, Gille.  _ He _ wanted to take me away. And-” an angry laugh escapes him as his shading finally shifts to something  _ not _ purple, the tips of his fingers shifting to black, as if Sammy had stuck his hands in a pot of ink. 

He continues as if he hasn’t noticed, “And because of that damn spell, I would have gone with him if Squeakers and Koda hadn’t snapped me out of it. I would have gone with him, I almost- and you don’t- you don’t want to know what he wanted to-” his voice wavers, then breaks as the black slowly retreats, his uncovered lips trembling and his eyes shimmering under that curtain of rainbow hair. 

He softly pulls his hands out from their grasps, curling up even further, arms wrapped around his knees. His long rainbow hair falls in a cascade across his shoulders in waves, hiding his face completely as he tucks it into the space in between his kneecaps. 

“I’m sorry. I’m not a good nemesis, Gille.” he says quietly. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Gille asks, completely baffled. 

“Sammy, stop that.” Chifley says sternly, but not without compassion. “Just because you’re not okay right now doesn’t mean that the dynamic you have with Gille is  _ ruined _ .”

Sammy shrugs morosely. Gille frowns. 

“No.  _ You _ don’t get to decide whether it’s a dealbreaker for me, you pecker. And it’s  _ not _ \- so what if you have pecking baggage with Reelkind. They were peckers first!  _ We _ are perfectly normal toons,”

“Yes, a villain, cleric and a detective’s son are  _ completely  _ normal toons.” Chifley says with a snort. 

“ _ We _ are perfectly fine the way we are!” Gille continues as if Chifley hadn’t spoken, and he jabs a finger in Sammy’s face. “Now you are going to liven up or… or…” he digs into his pocket and pulls out a pillow. 

“Hey isn’t that from-” 

“Or I’ll smack you over the head with this!” Gille once again declares as if Chifley hadn’t spoken, but there is a side glance of glowing orange eyes and a mischievous grin.

Chifley feels a chill run down his spine. He frantically glances around the room and dives for one of the pillows laid on the single bed just as Gille swings. 

Sammy splutters as his face is filled with a comedic amount of feathers and he growls. He digs into his robe’s sleeve and pulls out a pillow just as Gille races after Chifley with a cackle. 

“Get  _ back here  _ Gille Trebble!” Sammy shouts, and launches himself at the smaller toon who was cackling up a storm and whaling on Chifley who had formed a protective wall of pillows on the bed and was hunkering down behind them. 

“You gotta catch meee!” Gille cackles, bouncing off the bed and dashing around Sammy, who was currently… empty handed? Gille’s eyebrows crease and then  _ FWUMPH! _ The pillow that Sammy had tossed connects. Gille lets out a yowl of protest as he feels Sammy’s arms encircle his waist and pulls backward, causing them both to flump on the bed. There is a mad scramble for more pillowy ammunition as Gille tries to extract himself from Sammy’s arms. 

And then they both see Chifley’s grinning face, a pillow in each hand. 

_ THWUMP! THWUMP!  _

Sammy shoves the pillow off his face with a splutter, blowing out random feathers out from his mouth and then freezes when he notices that Gille is just a few inches from his face, a predatory grin on his lips and orange eyes narrowed as he perches on Sammy’s chest, the armor Gille casually wore heavy enough to keep him pinned for the most part. Sammy’s eyes grow as wide as golden dinner plates. Gille’s tail lashes back and forth behind him. 

“Gille, what are you-”

_ THWUMP _ !

“Ha! I win!” Gille cackles as Sammy once again splutters, rolling off of Sammy to starfish onto the bed smuggly. 

Sammy slowly sits up, letting out a huff of air in an attempt to push his red-orange bangs out of his eyes and then settles back on his arms. His shading shifts to a warm golden yellow edged with pink as he watches Chifley sneak up quietly from behind Gille. 

“Oh have you, really?” Sammy grins, wide and sharp

Gille cracks open one orange eye to look at Sammy quizzically then blatantly stares at Sammy’s teeth-

_ FWUMP _ ! Chifley beans Gille over the head with the final pillow. 

Gille shouts wordlessy, whipping around to grab Chifley by the middle, yanking him onto the bed. The twiggy toon lets out a yelp as Gille wraps his arms and legs around him like a limpet, smugly putting his chin on Chifley’s shoulder and pinning him in between Sammy. “ _ Now _ I have.” 

Sammy snorts. “Let him go, Gille.” he says amusedly.

“Mmmm… Nah.” 

  
  


There are three toons who know Sammy’s face. And Sammy trusts them all implicitly. 


End file.
